Nov 10, 2014
We had to re-book my oncologist appointment because of our clinic visits from The Infection. We weren't too sure why my oncologist had booked an appointment other than just to check in. It was just past 2 weeks since surgery and we hadn't yet been to see my surgeon. I had no idea what the pathology said, but for once I comforted myself with the fact that a late call is probably a good thing versus an early one. My last "early results" call resulted in my diagnosis...
I have to say I was surprised they wanted blood work prior to my oncologist meeting but at the same time I was glad that there would be some sort of check that all my counts were where they should be post surgery and being on the mend from the Infection.
As we pulled into the Tom Baker parking lot, I mused aloud to Phil how strange it was that we should be so familiar with a hospital. We have spent countless hours up there the last few months but I still have moments of "this is so surreal that this place is like my 2nd home. I'm 36. And it's a hospital....". I guess you get used to just about anything when you do it often enough.
We can even distinguish between the veterans and rookies in this world. It's only been a few months but sometimes it feels likes I'm decades older from my experiences. My views on life and death are probably more akin to those of seniors than my own peers. When you have your first child, the world is never the same again. Suddenly it seems alot scarier than pre-kids. You worry more about the future, and if it will be good for them.
canser has been similar for me. It robbed me of my "life innocence". That expectation that tomorrow will always come. The taking health for granted way of living that most of my healthy peers likely live each day. 'Knowing' you will be at your kids weddings. That you'll get to hold your grandchildren.
My mortality reminder started the day I found the lump. And has never left.
It's not all bad though - it's made me cherish the good memories even more. I try to slow down more than I did before. I look at my kids every day with wonder, and so much love it's almost heartbreaking. I am thankful every, single day. And I feel things more - fear is sharper, happiness is bubblier, sadness is heart wrenching, gratefulness is all consuming...It can be a little overwhelming at times, but it's worth it for the way I feel in those unbelievably happy moments - the moments of pure joy.
I was about to have one of those moments, but didn't know it.
We got blood work done - man was it busy that Monday!! Then we went and sat and waited for my oncologist. They do the blood work 'stat' so it gets rushed back to your doc within 1-1.5hrs after you get it done.
Trish - my nurse - weighed me. While I was on the scale I said "Man, we forgot to get an 'after' weight post surgery. I'm curious how much 'the girls' weighed. I have people thinking like 10lbs! I should take bets...."
I couldn't remember how much I weighed pre surgery so she went to check. She came back a short while later.
"7lb difference pre and post surgery".
7lbs??? Holy cow!! Well that was the fastest way ever to lose that much weight....
She also told us the pathology was in. My oncologist would go over it with me since I had not met with my surgeon yet.
While we waited for Dr Stewart to come in, I was initially excited to get the pathology back. But the longer we sat there, the more my thoughts wandered. What if there's canser left? What if some of the other lymph nodes had canser still? Will that mean more surgery?
Up till that point it had not occurred to me that there might still be canser left.
Suddenly I was nervous. How would I feel if they told me there was still canser? I had no idea cause I had never considered it.
In walked Dr Schoenroth, the lady who works with Dr Stewart.
"So I have your results from the pathology. .."
Here goes nothing....
"Well, everything came back negative...blah blah blah...."
All negative? Did I hear her right? Doesn't that mean......
"So a complete response? Are you saying I had a complete response to chemo? There's no canser left? At all??".
"...yes, you had a complete response to chemo. Negative for all lymph nodes removed, negative for left breast tissue, and negative for right breast tissue...."
She probably kept talking, but in that moment it was like the weight of the world (that I didn't realise I was carrying) was lifted off my shoulders. It was like all the happiness filled my heart so that it felt like it was going to burst. Like I was floating on air. Could it really be?...this only happens 25% of the time...and it happened to me???
As I was still floating in a haze of joy, a few minutes later she said:
"...so this will be your last meeting with us..."
And just like that, she burst my bubble.
"What?".
The haze was gone and she was in sharp focus. My heart may have even stopped beating for a moment. It felt like my whole world had just been tilted on its axis and I wasn't holding onto anything.
It caught me completely off guard.
"You'll go back now for check ups at your family doctor every 6 months..."
Family doctor? What? 6 months? She must mean 3 months...you 'graduate' to 6 months, everyone knows that...she must be mixed up...
"I don't have a family doctor" was all I managed to say.
"Oh then there is a clinic run via Tom Baker by a nurse practitioner who does canser follow up appointments. She's quite passionate about it."
Nurse? What about the 5 year plan? Isn't my oncologist supposed to be with me till I hit 5 years?
"Is this new? I know others going through treatment and they follow up with their oncologist. I don't understand. 6 months? I don't feel comfortable with 6 months - isn't it supposed to start with 3 months? I can already see the light at the end of the treatment tunnel and it's making me nervous. 6 months without a check up freaks me out. I'll be a basket case by then."
"No, this policy has been like this for years. Only people with a special reason keep seeing their oncologist (I was thinking "I must know ALOT of special cases..." but I didn't say anything) What if we book you into the clinic in 3 months for a follow up?".
"Ok..."
What else could I say? My head was spinning. You hear how tough it is once you are done treatments with survivorship issues and I'm not even going to see my oncologist anymore. My safety net was removed in a blink of an eye and I wasn't even finished my act.
I didn't even bring a Thank You card cause I had no idea this would be our last meeting. I didn't get to see Dr Stewart. I couldn't even shake the hand of one of the men who helped to save my life.
This completely tempered the good news of the complete response.
We left feeling less buoyed and more deflated.
I tried really hard to get the joy back by sharing the complete response news on Facebook. I shared it with my One Aimers too. But the excitement with sharing the news was sheer bravado on my part.
I was still reeling from the fact that that was my last oncologist appointment...
We had to re-book my oncologist appointment because of our clinic visits from The Infection. We weren't too sure why my oncologist had booked an appointment other than just to check in. It was just past 2 weeks since surgery and we hadn't yet been to see my surgeon. I had no idea what the pathology said, but for once I comforted myself with the fact that a late call is probably a good thing versus an early one. My last "early results" call resulted in my diagnosis...
I have to say I was surprised they wanted blood work prior to my oncologist meeting but at the same time I was glad that there would be some sort of check that all my counts were where they should be post surgery and being on the mend from the Infection.
As we pulled into the Tom Baker parking lot, I mused aloud to Phil how strange it was that we should be so familiar with a hospital. We have spent countless hours up there the last few months but I still have moments of "this is so surreal that this place is like my 2nd home. I'm 36. And it's a hospital....". I guess you get used to just about anything when you do it often enough.
We can even distinguish between the veterans and rookies in this world. It's only been a few months but sometimes it feels likes I'm decades older from my experiences. My views on life and death are probably more akin to those of seniors than my own peers. When you have your first child, the world is never the same again. Suddenly it seems alot scarier than pre-kids. You worry more about the future, and if it will be good for them.
canser has been similar for me. It robbed me of my "life innocence". That expectation that tomorrow will always come. The taking health for granted way of living that most of my healthy peers likely live each day. 'Knowing' you will be at your kids weddings. That you'll get to hold your grandchildren.
My mortality reminder started the day I found the lump. And has never left.
It's not all bad though - it's made me cherish the good memories even more. I try to slow down more than I did before. I look at my kids every day with wonder, and so much love it's almost heartbreaking. I am thankful every, single day. And I feel things more - fear is sharper, happiness is bubblier, sadness is heart wrenching, gratefulness is all consuming...It can be a little overwhelming at times, but it's worth it for the way I feel in those unbelievably happy moments - the moments of pure joy.
I was about to have one of those moments, but didn't know it.
We got blood work done - man was it busy that Monday!! Then we went and sat and waited for my oncologist. They do the blood work 'stat' so it gets rushed back to your doc within 1-1.5hrs after you get it done.
I couldn't remember how much I weighed pre surgery so she went to check. She came back a short while later.
"7lb difference pre and post surgery".
7lbs??? Holy cow!! Well that was the fastest way ever to lose that much weight....
She also told us the pathology was in. My oncologist would go over it with me since I had not met with my surgeon yet.
While we waited for Dr Stewart to come in, I was initially excited to get the pathology back. But the longer we sat there, the more my thoughts wandered. What if there's canser left? What if some of the other lymph nodes had canser still? Will that mean more surgery?
Up till that point it had not occurred to me that there might still be canser left.
Suddenly I was nervous. How would I feel if they told me there was still canser? I had no idea cause I had never considered it.
In walked Dr Schoenroth, the lady who works with Dr Stewart.
"So I have your results from the pathology. .."
Here goes nothing....
"Well, everything came back negative...blah blah blah...."
All negative? Did I hear her right? Doesn't that mean......
"So a complete response? Are you saying I had a complete response to chemo? There's no canser left? At all??".
"...yes, you had a complete response to chemo. Negative for all lymph nodes removed, negative for left breast tissue, and negative for right breast tissue...."
She probably kept talking, but in that moment it was like the weight of the world (that I didn't realise I was carrying) was lifted off my shoulders. It was like all the happiness filled my heart so that it felt like it was going to burst. Like I was floating on air. Could it really be?...this only happens 25% of the time...and it happened to me???
As I was still floating in a haze of joy, a few minutes later she said:
"...so this will be your last meeting with us..."
And just like that, she burst my bubble.
"What?".
The haze was gone and she was in sharp focus. My heart may have even stopped beating for a moment. It felt like my whole world had just been tilted on its axis and I wasn't holding onto anything.
It caught me completely off guard.
"You'll go back now for check ups at your family doctor every 6 months..."
Family doctor? What? 6 months? She must mean 3 months...you 'graduate' to 6 months, everyone knows that...she must be mixed up...
"I don't have a family doctor" was all I managed to say.
"Oh then there is a clinic run via Tom Baker by a nurse practitioner who does canser follow up appointments. She's quite passionate about it."
Nurse? What about the 5 year plan? Isn't my oncologist supposed to be with me till I hit 5 years?
"Is this new? I know others going through treatment and they follow up with their oncologist. I don't understand. 6 months? I don't feel comfortable with 6 months - isn't it supposed to start with 3 months? I can already see the light at the end of the treatment tunnel and it's making me nervous. 6 months without a check up freaks me out. I'll be a basket case by then."
"No, this policy has been like this for years. Only people with a special reason keep seeing their oncologist (I was thinking "I must know ALOT of special cases..." but I didn't say anything) What if we book you into the clinic in 3 months for a follow up?".
"Ok..."
What else could I say? My head was spinning. You hear how tough it is once you are done treatments with survivorship issues and I'm not even going to see my oncologist anymore. My safety net was removed in a blink of an eye and I wasn't even finished my act.
I didn't even bring a Thank You card cause I had no idea this would be our last meeting. I didn't get to see Dr Stewart. I couldn't even shake the hand of one of the men who helped to save my life.
This completely tempered the good news of the complete response.
We left feeling less buoyed and more deflated.
I tried really hard to get the joy back by sharing the complete response news on Facebook. I shared it with my One Aimers too. But the excitement with sharing the news was sheer bravado on my part.
I was still reeling from the fact that that was my last oncologist appointment...
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